He stretched out his hands to Garth.
"No handcuffs," Garth said gruffly. "We might go in one of those automobiles."
Randall stumbled forward. He groped about the hat-rack.
"My hat! Where's my hat? Do as you wish. But not Treving's car. Good God! You wouldn't take me to jail in Treving's car!"
Garth was restless the next day. The public, in common with the police department and the district attorney's office, looked upon the case against Randall as proved and, to all purposes, disposed of. But Garth, walking along upper Fifth Avenue in the afternoon, could not resist stopping at an expensive florist's and demanding a rose for his button-hole. When it was brought he asked the price, and, a good deal disconcerted, handed over the money.
For some time he gazed at the colorful, fragrant flower which swayed on its graceful stem. Then, with an absent air, he placed it on the marble stand and moved towards the door.
The clerks glanced at each other, amused.
"You've forgotten your rose, sir," one of them said.
"No matter," Garth replied. "I've had my money's worth."